Happy Ever Afters
by faelyn leaf
Summary: Atton, Dustil, and their shared obsessions. AttonxDustil, implied AttonxRevan.


The den was a typically dingy fare. Drunks with their whores huddled in corners, stains on the tables, and the cool, mellow smell of cigarra smoke permeated the air. The smoke, especially, rushed to Atton's head giving him a heady, dizzy sensation. He lit his own cigarra, sat back in his chair and inhaled the rich smoke. Force, he had missed this. This, more than any pristine Jedi temple, felt like home.

His drinking partner for the night was one Dustil Onasi, and the kid, while usually moody, decided that this was the night to be a whiny, self indulged, son of a _schutta_ angst-ball. Atton was getting sick of it. Normally, he'd wrap his hands around the kid's throat, but he was still trying to play good, to play _light_. He sighed, took a sip of his drink and turned to Dustil. "So kid, what's on your mind?"

"Nothing," Onasi sulked in his academy bred Coruscanti accent.

Atton raked his hand through his hair. He'd had about all he could take of Dustil's relapse into teenage sulk. "Yeah right. Try it on someone else, kid, 'cause I'm not buying it."

The kid's eyes flashed. "I said it's nothing!"

Atton tried not to roll his eyes. That trick might've worked in the Academy, but it sure as hell wouldn't fly on him. Any idiot could scare some sentient playing the boogeyman with glowy red eyes and a loud enough voice, but where was the subtly of a cold whisper in the ear, a blade to the throat, or even a knife in the back after a good frack? "Look, Onasi," Atton said nonplussed, "you can either tell me now, or I can keep filling you with juma until you _want_ to tell me." He grinned. "Of course it'll be on your tab."

"I – "

"You what?"

The kid looked genuinely miserable, and buried his face in his hands. "I – I love her."

Atton tried not to laugh. That was it, that was the kid's big secret, the thing that haunted him at night? Yeah right. Everyone loved Revan. Everyone and their fracking brother. Or son, in this case.

Only, they didn't love her, they worshipped her. They'd kill for her, they'd bleed for, they'd give her everything until there was nothing left to give, and then she'd betray them. Personally, Atton'd rather have a knife in the back, but she'd always been so creative. So _inventive._ If she was feeling particularly schizophrenic, she'd pat them on the head and send them away with some Jedi proverb. The bastards wouldn't get half way out of the system before the shuttle blew. Of course, it really depended on her mood, and Atton had decided long ago not bother deciphering those – wasn't worth the headache or possible vivisection.

Atton got it, though, he understood. Dustil Onasi pining away over Revan while his father fracked her senseless in the next room. It was enough to mess anyone up, stepmother Oedipal Complexes not withstanding. But really, what could he say, 'the truth will set you free', 'it's better to have love and lost'? Atton snorted. Right.

He could always lie to the kid. He was ... _had _been an assassin, and knew lies intimately. Lies were as easy to stack as a pazaak deck, silky smooth as cigarra smoke against the tongue, and pleasant to the ears. Lies had got him into the beds of hundreds of Jedi men – and women. But, and it was a big 'but', he actually liked the kid. Liked him enough not lie, well, at least not too much – and not about happily ever afters with deposed Sith Lords.

"C'mon kid, I'll buy you another drink," Atton said eventually.

"I don't need another one."

"Yeah, yeah do. Trust me, best way to get her out of your system is to drink more juma," Atton said philosophically.

"Sure, so I can have her by my bedside while they pump my stomach."

Atton shrugged. "She was always pleased by the sight of entrails, maybe she feels the same way about puke."

The kid snorted, but when the bartender brought the next round, he didn't complain.

"So, is this what you did to stop thinking about her? Just kept drinking?" the kid asked miserably.

"Nah, it took several near misses with death and an old, manipulative hag to do that. After awhile, I just got too distracted to care," he lied smoothly. Better to give the kid some hope, right?

Dustil snorted, "Now who's lying? I've seen the way you look at her." The kid made a sour face. "Father has seen the way you look at her."

He had? Atton forced a fleeting feeling of panic down, but kept his voice steady. Carth Onasi was about as subtle as a damn Wookiee, and probably just as fond of blunt force trauma. "Ah, gee, you figured it out, and here I thought it was the best kept secret in the galaxy," he drawled.

"You want her."

"Anyone with eyes wants her, kid."

The kid nodded. "So, what did you feel for her, Atton?" He smirked. "Not love, was it?"

The kid was being so fracking naïve he started to sound like Mical. Love? Atton'd felt many things for Revan: lust, possessiveness, want, hunger, arousal, obsession – these things she cultivated to keep her troops in line. He fought the nervous urge to play with the empty cigarra box laying on the table. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "She sure is one hell of a woman for you to set your sights on."

Dustil snorted. "The same could be said about you."

The kid looked moodily into his glass again, and Atton got annoyed. "Come on, Onasi. Let's get you drunk."

"That's the answer to everything for you, isn't it? Get drunk."

Atton decided to be honest. _Again_. It was becoming more habit forming than pazaak, cigarras, and spice combined; maybe he should see a shrink. "Nah, but it makes you forget for awhile. Forget how much she fracked with your head, forget how much you want her, forget how much you want her dead."

"She didn't do those things to me."

"Yeah, well aren't you just lucky."

Dustil gave him a shrewd look. "Now who needs the drink?"

"Yeah well, maybe." The kid was interesting, Atton had to give him that at least. There weren't too many people bright enough to call him out like that. Less that lived after doing it. He held up his glass in mock salute. "To happily ever afters."

Dustil eyed him warily. Probably trying to figure out what _daddy_ would do, then say the opposite. Talk about complexes. Atton rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. At least he wouldn't have to wait long.

Finally the kid nodded. "This is as close as we're going to get, isn't it?"

"Beats being dead."

Dustil snorted. "Matter of opinion."

"Trust me, kid, we're the lucky ones. Don't see us being sold to some son of a _schutta _hutt for a handful of credits."

Dustil scowled. "No, we're just indentured to the Jedi."

Atton shrugged. What could he say? It was true enough. Sure the Jedi didn't make a habit of killing each other off, but did that make either of them any more free? Atton wasn't so sure. "Yeah well, you help out the galaxy a time or two, and the next thing you know you're paying for it for the rest of your life."

"No good deed goes unpunished."

"Way of the galaxy. The Force has it out for us, and the faster you learn that, the better you're off. Get used to it, kid."

Dustil smirked into his drink. "Not going to tell me I'm too young to be so cynical?"

"Do I look like Onasi the Elder?"

The kid shuddered, and Atton wondered if he were trying to get the image of Carth and Revan going at it like gizka out of his brain. Force, he had to try often enough.

"No," Dustil said. "Thank the Force."

"Did you and her ever?"

The question caught Atton off guard, but he kept his face carefully neutral. "Ever what? Frack Revan? Lots of times."

Dustil nodded thoughtfully. "What was it like?

"Like tasting power, kid."

Dustil nodded, but fell silent. Atton was grateful. He was getting hard just thinking about it, and the last time he'd rubbed one off to those particular sets of memories he'd just deserted. He had nearly driven himself crazy with want and desire for her. More of the obsession she bred within him, it had taken every ounce of self control not to take the nearest shuttle back to her. No, he didn't need all that again.

Truth was, as much as he wanted her, there was better prospect right beside him. An easier one at that. Atton eyed the kid appreciatively. Dustil was attractive. The darkness in the kid didn't just taint his soul, it wrapped around him like a shroud, and drew from his physical self as well.

Atton had never liked blonds too much; the blood in their hair always looked too messy, too reminiscent of things he'd rather forget. Maybe that's why he never fell hard for the Exile. Oh sure, he'd wanted to frack the other man senseless, but when had there been a person he didn't want to frack? Well, Kreia, but he was _not_ going to go there.

Atton shook his head. Here he was lying to himself again. Wasn't that the first rule: never believe your own lies? More half truths, but then again they were his speciality, even when he lied to himself. He had fallen for the Exile, would have died for him, but now that Gaven was gone, it was hard to remember just what he'd felt for the other man.

Dustil, though, Dustil was all lean lines and dark, angular features. Looked nothing like his old man. The kid looked more like Atton himself, a mirror image. The thought amused Atton: not everyone could frack themselves so thoroughly. The question was: did he want to? Did the kid?

He looked over and Dustil was still starring into his drink. Atton rolled his eyes. He should do them both a favour and get the kid to shut up about Revan for fifteen minutes. It was worth a shot.

"Hey kid?"

"Yeah?"

Atton smirked. Only four drinks and the kid was losing his carefully cultivated Coruscanti accent. "Wanna get out of here?"

"What?" Dustil sputtered. "With you?"

Atton shrugged. "Who else? Why, you think the old man wouldn't approve?"

The kid blinked. "No," he said. He smiled like a cheshire cat, and threw a handful of credits onto the bar. "I know he wouldn't."

They stepped out together into the cold night air, and Atton smiled as he lit a fresh cigarra. He draped his arm carelessly across Dustil's shoulders and smirked. Today was looking up. Revan and her toy admiral be damned, this was one night he and the kid wouldn't have to think about them. If obsession was a habit, maybe Dustil would be his first step.


End file.
